A Thousand Leaves: Outtakes
by BellaSunshine
Summary: Outtakes from my multi-chapter story, "A Thousand Leaves." Will likely  mostly  be Edward's letters to Bella. Rated M for language for now.
1. December 13th, 2006: Christmas

**A/N:** I was really in the mood to write a one-shot for Christmas, but then I decided to give you guys one of Edward's letters to Bella instead. This outtake may end up being the first of a few, mostly letters (probably). So, here you go. :)

Merry Christmas to all of you!

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own any characters you recognize. The outtakes are rated M, not suitable for younger readers due to foul language, and for later chapters that may contain more than that..._

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**Letters to Isabella**

_December 13th, 2006_

Dear Isabella,

It's Christmas. My first one ever away from my family and your first without your mother …

I hope this letter finds you well. I can't imagine the pain you must be going through, having to spend the holidays without the one person you loved the most. Maybe it will help to think about your favorite Christmas with her. Was it in Forks? Was it in Phoenix?

What's the best gift she ever gave you? Besides your life, and time with her...

This isn't the most ideal place to spend the holidays, but it could be worse, I suppose. There are people out there who don't have anyplace at all to go, to call home. Not that this is a 'home,' but it is to me. It's all I have. I don't really associate with most of the guys in here much. Have I told you that? Maybe I could coin a new phrase. Just call me a 'cell snob' or something. Ha …

No, really. It's an OK place as far as this type of place goes. I can't imagine everyone would have it this easy anywhere else like this.

They put up a beautiful live tree in the main rec room. It's a grand fir that almost touches the ceiling, and the scent is heavenly. Reminds me of home. I didn't join the decorating party, but it was amusing watching all these grown men hassle each other over what should go where.

No strings, though, or hooks, or anything of that sort. Afraid someone might use them, I guess. They handed out candy canes and fake poinsettia leaves to decorate it with.

I can't believe they put up a tree anyway. What kind of place is this?

It's not as if I expected it to be like a Muppets cartoon – with singing and dancing and everyone full of mirth. Christ, I miss the Muppets. Anyway, I didn't exactly expect a place that puts up a fucking live Christmas tree either.

Do you think they're just trying to tease us? Mock us? Make us wish even harder that we were elsewhere?

I don't know how that would be possible.

Most of these guys – well, all of them, I guess – deserve to be here, but I don't. That's a bitter pill to swallow at Christmastime.

So, the other day I was thinking about my favorite Christmas, and believe it or not, I'm not sure I have just one. When you're a kid, every Christmas is fucking fantastic. You get all this cool shit for free! I mean, what kid doesn't love Christmas?

Dad bought me an encyclopedia set when I was eight. I don't remember ever touching it once it hit the shelf. It's probably still there, collecting dust in my old bedroom, next to the crappy Field Guide to Pacific Northwest Birds that my grandma got me when I was six.

What six-year-old likes to look at birds? I still don't understand that...

Last Christmas may have been the best, and I'm not saying that because it was my last in the free world. I'm saying that because my entire family was there, and everyone was happy.

You were there...

Remember? Alice found her old Twister game in the attic, and she brought it down, along with Candyland and Connect Four.

That was so awesome. I'll never forget the four of us sitting around the coffee table in the living room, trying to figure out how to play Candyland.

Hello, adults, childhood calling...

Then Mom called us into the dining room, and we ate way too much food. I could go for some of her pecan pie right about now. God, I miss her cooking.

I just miss her. I miss them all. Even you, Isabella, whether you want to believe that or not.

It's true. I think back to every Christmas we shared, and it hits me that it always seemed to be the one time of the year that you and I tolerated each other, that there wasn't any drama or any bullshit. We really were a family.

I accept all the blame for everything that happened any other time. You know, sometimes people just don't click. They don't get along. That doesn't excuse my behavior, I know. I'm such a louse.

But we're not kids anymore. Last Christmas, we were both home from college on winter break. You were in from California, and I can only imagine the growing-up that living in a place like that forces you to do. I hope that you at least get to be a little on the rebellious side while you're there. You know, kick some ass, take some names. Hell, I wouldn't blame you if you decided to stay. It's such a far cry from Forks and all its bullshit small-town, close-minded people.

None of this is making any sense, is it? Half the time, I don't even pay attention to what I'm writing. Most of my letters to you are just full of rambling and the fucked up things that I have more than enough time to think about here.

I have to go for now. They're showing It's a Wonderful Life and I really don't want to miss that little piece of Christmas. Another from the past...

Truly, I hope this letter finds you well, and in a good place. Hell, I just hope it finds you...

Merry Christmas, Isabella. Don't forget to make a wish. (Remember?)

Respectfully,

Edward


	2. December 31st, 2006: New Year's

**A/N: **Thanks for the reads/reviews on the Christmas letter. I'm discovering that I really, really like to write in EPOV...

Special thanks to Dinx, my very trusty sweetheart of a beta.

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own any characters you recognize. The outtakes are rated M, not suitable for younger readers due to foul language, and for later chapters that may contain more than that..._

**Letters to Isabella**

December 31, 2006

Dear Isabella,

There are two hours and six minutes left until the clock strikes midnight.

I'm sitting in my cell, writing by flashlight. My cellmate, Marcus, is already asleep. He's like eighty years old or something, so he's earned the right to sleep through the passing of one year into another.

It's quiet. I don't think anyone else is up, and if they are, they're probably doing what I'm doing right now. Writing a letter, or writing in a journal, or just sitting there, staring off into space, thinking about another year of their life – gone.

I never gave much thought to the beginning of a new year until Grandpa Masen died two years ago. Do you remember him? He was, hands down, one of my favorite people in the world. I swear, it didn't matter how rotten your day was going, he'd find some way to brighten it. Stupid jokes, or whatever. He had some stories...

Anyway, when he died – I'm sure you remember, he had a stroke – we went to Chicago for his funeral, and I think that's the first time I ever saw my dad cry. Of course, Mom was naturally bereft. He was her father. But my dad took it so fucking hard. We all did. I think because it's hard to wrap the mind around someone so vibrant and spirited losing at the game of life so unexpectedly. He could have lived to be as old as Marcus, if not older. Definitely older.

I learned a lot about life from him, and a lot about death. He was my last living grandparent. It's hard to lose that wisdom, to not have it readily available. I guess you know how that feels, though. I overheard you tell Alice once that you never knew any of your grandparents. I'm sorry for that.

When he died, the holidays were rough that year, but when the new year started … it was so fucking horrible. I kept thinking about 2004 being the last year of Grandpa's life, and how I was somehow leaving him behind, stuck in the past, by moving into 2005 without him.

Isabella, I know what you're going through... how you must feel at this very minute, as the new year approaches. At least, on some obtuse level. It's not easy to put one foot in front of the other and leave it behind.

I hope that the new year brings you some peace, and a lot of good memories. They can sustain you.

Did you make any resolutions? I know... they're pointless, aren't they?

I made two last year. One was to quit smoking. I was doing pretty well until all this happened. Now, not having a cigarette would probably drive me insane.

The other was to reevaluate my life. Does that sound really insipid? And probably a little contrived, but it's true. How can someone so young reevaluate a life barely lived?

I was working on it, and then... well, you know the rest.

It's not an easy task, trying to make up for years and years of menial and – as Alice called it – wretched behavior, but I was trying. No, there's no trying. I was going to do it. I changed when I went to college. Small fish in a big sea, and all that. It's amazing how much of an eye-opener it is to leave a small town behind and be in a place where no one knows your name, or your past, and they really don't give a shit about it anyway.

But I wanted – needed – to become the man that Grandpa Masen expected me to be. He would have hung me up by my toes if he had any inkling of my behavior as a kid. I guess I should consider myself lucky that Mom and Dad didn't tell him. Then again, maybe they should have. Maybe I wouldn't be sitting here now if they had, and he had gotten a hold of me. I respected him enough to take heed in everything he told me. But as a kid, it went in one ear and out the other. I wish he were around now.

I wish I had the chance to become the man he was.

This life... in here? It affords me way too much time to think about that man, the me who should be outside these walls, living the life he would have wanted for me. He's the one who persuaded me to pursue the degree I have, to help make life better for others. I guess in some way, it was his way of telling me to always stay humble. That was always lost on me before...

Let me tell you, Isabella, nothing can humble a man faster than being in a place like this.

There is now one hour and twenty-six minutes left until 2007.

I wonder where you are? Wherever it is, I hope you're safe, warm, and happy... surrounded by people who care about you.

Happy New Year, Isabella.

Respice. Adspice. Prospice.

Respectfully,

Edward

**Chapter End Notes:** "Respice. Adspice. Prospice" is Latin for "Look back. Look at. Look ahead." (in a nutshell).

Next outtake will be … ? … I don't have a set date, so be sure you set a story alert, if you haven't already.

Ch. 19 of the story will be going up Monday. There's a teaser on my blog (linked on my profile).

Thanks for reading, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!


	3. Edward's First Letter to Bella

**A/N:** I had a few requests for Edward's first-ever letter to Bella, so here it is :)

Thanks to Beta Dinx!

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own any characters you recognize. The outtakes are rated M, not suitable for younger readers due to foul language, and for later chapters that may contain more than that..._

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**Letters to Isabella**

_July 13, 2006_

Dear Isabella,

I'm not entirely sure that this is a good idea, writing to you …

But what else can I do?

I've been here a little over a week. I still don't know why.

It's been eye-opening, to say the least. The things they make a man do when they first get here... well, I'll spare you the details. I've hardly left my cell. I go to the dining hall for the requisite three meals a day, and outside to smoke once or twice. That's it. I'm not sure what else I'm supposed to do here. They don't exactly make instruction manuals for this sort of thing, do they? What would it be called? "Incarceration for Dummies"?

I know you're wondering why I'm writing to you. That is, if you've even bothered to open this. I wouldn't blame you if you chuck it.

I have so much time to think in here, it's insane. A man should not be subjected to such infinite time, to allow his mind to wander on its own free will...

Needless to say, I'm desperate. I need the distraction, and writing affords me that. This letter is like a journal, I guess you could say. Shit … I probably won't even send this. If I do, you can throw it away. That's fine. At least I'll have found a way to pass the time.

At some point, I'm going to go crazy. I don't see how that can be avoided. They have programs here. I can learn a new skill, like cabinetry, or tutor inmates who can't read. I could give that a shot. But right now, I feel too discombobulated. Like I'm not me. I feel like I'm just hanging on, watching myself as an outsider.

Fuck.

I'm sorry, Isabella. I shouldn't be writing to you.

Forgive me.

Respectfully,

Edward


	4. Carlisle and Esme

**A/N: This outtake was originally written for the Fandom 4 Tsunami compilation. I will also be posting Renee's story, the outtake I wrote for Fandom 4 Sexual Assault Awareness.  
**

**Thanks to Dinx for beta'ing.**

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters you recognize. This story is rated M, and is not suitable for younger readers. Story contains some violence, character death, very foul language and may eventually contain sexual situations. Please do not read if any of these things offend you._

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**Outtake: Carlisle & Esme's Story**

_May 17, 2006_

Carlisle was finishing up his examination of a boy who had fallen from a tree when a nurse entered the room.

"Dr. Cullen, phone call for you."

Carlisle didn't take his eyes off the boy's bruised arm. "Please take a message, Janice."

Janice fidgeted nervously. "It's about your son, Dr. Cullen."

Carlisle sighed, gently laying the boy's arm back into its sling.

He smiled at the boy. "I have to go for now. You look after your mommy, okay?"

The boy, no more than five, smiled shyly. "Okay."

Carlisle turned to the boy's worried mother. "He'll be taken up for an MRI shortly. He's going to be fine, Mrs. Andrews. Nothing a little rest won't fix."

She nodded and thanked him before he left, making his way to the nurses station. "Transfer it, please," he said, heading for his office around the corner.

The phone beeped just as he walked in. "This is Dr. Cullen."

"Dr. Cullen, this is Officer Kevin Lyons with the Forks Police Department."

Carlisle's eyes fell on a family portrait sitting on his desk. "Officer Lyons, is someone in trouble?" He could only assume that there hadn't been some sort of accident, given that he worked at the hospital and hadn't seen any of his family come into the E.R.

"We've detained your son for questioning in a homicide, sir."

Carlisle's stomach fell, and he stood quickly. "Where is he?"

"The Swan residence."

"Bella," Carlisle rasped, leaning over his desk. "I'll be right there."

He slammed the phone down, not bothering to ask for specifics. Emmett wasn't in town at the moment, which left only Edward. He tore off his coat before dashing out the door, stopping briefly at the nurses station.

"I have a family emergency," he told them. "You'll need to get Carson in here to help."

He nearly broke every traffic law as he drove across town. When he pulled onto Old Pine Road, he squinted through the glare of flashing lights, pulling up behind a television truck. He barely had the Mercedes in park before he was out the door.

He searched for Edward, finally seeing him sitting on the ground, his wrists cuffed behind his back.

"Edward!" he called as he started toward them.

A deputy stepped in front of him. "Whoa. Where do you think you're going, sir?"

"That's my son," Carlisle said. "Please."

"He's okay," Charlie called over.

Carlisle hurried over and quickly knelt at his son's side. "Edward?"

Edward didn't even flinch as he laid a hand on his shoulder. It was almost as if he had gone into a catatonic state.

"Son?"

"I reckon you ought to call your attorney," Charlie told him.

Carlisle rose to his feet. "Chief, what exactly happened here? Is Bella hurt?"

At the mention of her name, Charlie glanced toward the ambulance and Carlisle did the same.

"Bella's fine. Her mother's dead," Charlie said.

"Renee? But ..." Carlisle looked toward the ambulance, then the house before looking Charlie square in the eye. "Chief, I'm so sorry."

Charlie said nothing, just looked down at Edward. "The sheriff should be here soon. They'll want to take Edward in for questioning."

"Is my son under arrest?" Carlisle asked, his heart hammering.

"No. At least, not right now. You understand that I can't say anything..." Charlie told him.

Carlisle was perplexed, and while he was screaming on the inside, he had to keep his composure for Edward's sake.

"You think Edward did this?" Carlisle asked, his thoughts running out of control. He'd seen the blood on Edward, but the man he knew his son to be wasn't capable of taking the life of another. Was he?

Charlie didn't get a chance to answer as the sheriff and his team pulled up, followed by a crime scene unit.

"Christ," Carlisle mumbled. He looked back down at his son, who was still seemingly unaffected by everything going on around him.

Charlie moved away, and Carlisle knelt at his son's side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Edward?"

When he got no response, Carlisle sighed. "Son, do you understand what's happening?"

"I ..." Edward muttered. He squeezed his eyes shut, and Carlisle frowned at his son's lack of fight. Unless...

_No._

It wasn't much later that Edward was hauled to his feet, and Carlisle helplessly watched as he was placed in the back of a patrol car. All he could do was stand there, watching everything play out in slow motion.

When Bella started screaming from the back of the ambulance, Carlisle nearly dropped to his knees. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but in the numbness of his own grief and confusion, he blocked it out.

He had to call Esme. He didn't want her to hear it from a secondhand source. He pulled his phone out and hit her speed-dial number.

"Hello, darling," she said, her soft voice filling his ears. He closed his eyes, turning his back to the scene.

"Esme, I have something to tell you, and it's not … well, it's bad. Are you seated?"

"Carlisle?" she questioned, her voice lifting an octave. "What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid Renee Swan has been murdered."

Esme gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh! Oh, Carlisle. That's … oh, poor Bella. Is she okay? Are you with her?"

"I'm at the Swan home now," he said. "Esme, that's not all. Edward's here."

There was a pause as Esme worked to process his words. She dropped into the nearest chair as the blood drained from her face.

"Carlisle, what do you mean?"

"He's not talking, Es, but it looks bad. I don't know what happened. They've got him handcuffed, and-"

Esme began weeping, and Carlisle wanted nothing more than to reach through the phone and comfort her.

"Did he kill her, Carlisle? Did he?" she asked despondently. "Please tell me it's a mistake. Please!"

"I don't know!" Carlisle shouted, frustration in his words. "I don't know, Es. He won't talk to me. I have to go for now. I'll call when I know something."

He closed the phone as a pretty woman who had been speaking to Edward left the patrol car and began walking toward him.

"Dr. Cullen, I'm Detective Rosalie Hale. Are you doing okay?"

He looked at her incredulously. "No, I'm not doing okay. I want some damn answers. What did my son say to you?"

"He's not saying much," Rose replied, glancing over her shoulder toward the car.

"Is he under arrest?"

"Not at the moment. If you'd like, you can drive him to the police station. We'll question him there."

Carlisle nodded, and Rose walked away to speak to Charlie, who grew angry when told Edward was going to be released into his father's custody.

Carlisle quickly dialed Esme and told her they would be at the police station shortly.

He began making his way toward the patrol car when a deputy opened the door and pulled Edward out. Carlisle grabbed his son into a hug, but Edward merely stood there, unresponsive, even as Carlisle draped his jacket over his shoulders.

"I'll expect to see you there in ten minutes," Rose said to him as he and Edward walked toward the Mercedes.

"We'll be there," Carlisle responded, glancing at Edward who was staring straight ahead. He laid a hand on his son's back and opened the car door for him.

He was well aware that the detective was following them as they headed toward downtown. He looked over at Edward, who sat unmoving. He wasn't even sure if his son had blinked.

"I called your mother."

"You shouldn't have," Edward said with a frown.

"Don't be absurd. Of course I should have. She's your mother," Carlisle replied. "She'll be meeting us at the station."

"Dad, that's not necessary."

_Well, at least he's talking_, Carlisle thought. "I'm afraid it is, son."

"She'll just get upset, and I don't think she should be subjected to this."

Carlisle's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his thoughts going down a saddening path. "To what? What exactly is _this_? Did you kill that poor woman? Bella's mother?"

_Oh my God, son, what have you done?_

Carlisle's heart broke as his son glanced at him.

When Edward finally told him what happened, that he had been touching Bella when the chief entered the house, Carlisle gasped in horror.

"No, Dad, not like that," Edward answered. "Jesus Christ."

Carlisle's relief was miniscule given the big picture. His cell phone rang and he flipped it open.

"This is Carlisle."

"Carlisle, it's Jason. Esme just called me. My God-"

"Jason, we're on our way to the station," Carlisle responded.

"I'm out the door right now. Whatever you do, don't let him speak to anyone without me. Got it? He hasn't spoken to anyone already, has he?"

"No, I don't think so." He looked at Edward. "Jason wants to know if you said anything to anyone. Did you answer any questions?"

Edward shook his head.

"He says he didn't," Carlisle told his old friend.

"Good. I'll be there shortly."

As they neared the station, Esme was still several minutes away. She knew better than to drive when upset, but she had to get to her son. He was probably scared, and Esme wanted nothing more than to hug him and tell him it would be okay.

_It's all just a big misunderstanding. We'll be fine._

In the meantime, Carlisle had made sure Edward was cleaned up before his mother arrived. He had dried blood on his hands, and Carlisle's stomach cringed at the thought of it. He retrieved an old shirt from the trunk of his car, and knocked on the door to the restroom.

"Edward? Are you alright, son? I have a shirt for you."

Edward opened the door and took the shirt, pulling it on without a word. The door the station flew open, startling them, and Esme hurried toward them, immediately drawing Edward into her arms.

"Oh, Edward. Please tell me this isn't happening. What on earth is going on?"

Carlisle tried to soothe her, and she buried her face against his shoulder as sobs wracked her body. His already broken heart was shattered even more as she gasped for air, clinging to him.

He'd give anything to make it stop, even though he had no clue what was going on. Perhaps it was all a big misunderstanding, but Edward didn't seem to care one way or the other.

As their son was being interrogated, Esme sat stoically in an uncomfortable chair in the hallway, watching Carlisle's feet pace back and forth, his shoes echoing off the walls.

"Carlisle," Esme said softly, twisting a tissue in her hands, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Please tell me that Bella's okay. She is, isn't she? He didn't … I mean, whoever was there didn't hurt her?"

Carlisle's steps faltered as his wife's words sank in. "For christ's sake, Esme. Do you think our son murdered that woman?"

Esme turned her face up, her eyes rimmed with tears. "Carlisle, I don't know anything! But I have the feeling that you know more than you've shared with me."

Carlisle sighed. "Bella's fine, physically. You should be glad you weren't there, Es. The poor girl-"

Esme's sobs cut him off. "We should go to her. She'll need us."

He looked down at her in disbelief. "I doubt very much that Bella is going to want to see us right now."

"Don't be absurd! She's going to need all the support she can get!" Esme countered.

"Not from the family of the man who's currently being questioned for Renee's murder," Carlisle said quickly. "If this turns out to be nothing more than a mistake, we'll certainly go to her. But for now-"

Their conversation was cut off when the door opened at the end of the hall and Edward stepped out, followed by Jason.

"Well?" Esme asked, rising.

"They're releasing him," Jason said to her before rubbing a hand over his face.

Esme let out a whoosh of air and grabbed Edward into a hug. "Oh, thank God. Come on, honey. Let's go home."

Carlisle's relief was short-lived when he looked at Jason, who shook his head slightly. "You two go on," he told Esme. "I'd like to speak with Jason for a moment."

Esme smiled, grabbing Edward's hand before leading him out of the station.

Carlisle looked at his old friend. "They still think he did it, don't they?"

Jason sighed. "I'm afraid so. And Edward didn't help matters any. I know he was nervous, understandably so, but, Carlisle, Aro is a bulldog."

Carlisle scowled. He'd had many run-ins with the detective, and wasn't the least bit surprised to hear confirmation from Jason. "Esme and I saw him come in. I knew right away Edward in trouble," he told Jason. "Aro has a reputation. I've heard stories about him. I've had to fight to get him out of a patient's room many times."

Jason nodded. "He's ruthless, Carlisle. There's a reason he's the county's lead detective."

"What happens now?" Carlisle asked, though he had a fair idea they hadn't seen the last of Aro.

Jason told Carlisle he wanted Edward at his office at nine to cover everything. "If he sneezed today, I want to document it. And I also want to find out more about Isabella Swan."

Carlisle frowned. "Bella?"

"She could be key to Edward's case. If she got there right after her mother died, she may have noticed something important."

"But she passed out right after she got there. At least, that's what I was told," Carlisle replied, the picture forming in his mind. He shook it away, his worry increasing.

"That's what Edward is saying, but if she can remember anything, it could help us."

"She thinks he killed her mother," Carlisle said sadly. He wanted to go to her as much as Esme, to comfort the girl, but it would be a bad move at the moment, and he knew it.

Carlisle finalized his plans with Jason to bring Edward in before he headed home.

When he walked into the house, it was eerily quiet, and Carlisle suddenly felt a new wave of sadness. Gone was the warmth that the home was always shrouded in. It felt hallow now. Hallow and bleak.

He found Esme and Edward in the dining room. Edward lifted his hands from his head when he heard his dad enter.

"I'm in trouble," Edward said flatly.

Esme gasped, her eyes immediately darting to Carlisle.

"What do you mean?" Carlisle asked, crossing the room. "Edward, if you killed-"

"Carlisle!" Esme cried. "He's our son!"

"Jesus Christ," Edward said, getting to his feet. "I didn't kill her! Fuck. I … I don't know. I found her. She was still alive, and I didn't know what to do! I had her blood all over me, and Bella found me there, and things are so fucked up. How am I going to get out of this? I can't! They're going to say I did it, and it looks like I did!"

Carlisle gripped his hysterical son by the shoulders, shaking him gently. "Edward, look at me. Edward! You have to fight this. You can't stay silent. Do you hear me?"

"Oh, fuck," Edward said, digging his fists into his eyes. "The blood. There was so much blood. I can still feel it on me. And she looked at me. Renee looked at me, and she grabbed me, and I panicked! I didn't know what to do. And then Bella came home, and I tried to keep her from going inside, but she did, and I was so scared! She passed out, and I had to check to see if she was breathing. I didn't know what happened to her, and the chief came and he found me over Bella's body, and-" Edward was rambling so quickly that his words were running together, and Esme was sobbing quietly into her hands.

"Son, you're not going to jail. You have nothing to worry about. Do you hear me?"

"Fuck, the real killer … he's still out there! What about Bella? What if..." Edward mumbled, pushing away from his father. "They'll find him, right? They will. They have to. I can't … I don't want to go to jail, Dad! Jason's going to help me, right?"

Carlisle did his best to reassure his son, and his wife, that Jason would help him.

Less than two days later, Edward was arrested and charged in the murder. Carlisle had taken a leave of absence from the hospital, and was awakened by a pounding on the door at two in the morning.

Esme immediately thought the worst, and was right. Edward was awakened and brought downstairs, where he was placed in cuffs and read his rights in front of his parents and Alice. Esme and Alice were beside themselves, and Edward said nothing as he was taken away.

When they learned the knife used in the killing was found near their property, along the route that Edward would have taken that evening on his jog, their world began to crumble piece by piece. They didn't know what to believe anymore.

"I know you don't want to think about this," Jason told them in their living room, "but if Edward were to take a plea deal-"

"No, absolutely not," Carlisle stated, refilling his glass with more scotch.

"Carlisle, just hear me out. If he were to plead guilty, he could avoid a trial and possibly get a lighter sentence. If he goes to trial and is found guilty, the jury will likely give him the maximum, which is life in prison."

Emmett stormed out of the room, Alice on his heels, and Esme said nothing from her spot on the sofa.

"Did you mention this to Edward?" Carlisle asked.

"I did. He wanted me to bring it to your attention."

Carlisle was silent for a moment before voicing his thoughts. "If he pleads guilty, he's guilty. We did not raise a killer, Jason. Our son didn't take that woman's life."

Jason sighed. "I doubt very much any jury will see it that way. You know what the evidence is, Carlisle. It doesn't look good."

"Fucking do your job!" Carlisle shouted, throwing his glass to the floor as he stared at Jason. "My son is not a killer! Prove it, or I'll find someone who can."

"Carlisle," Esme said, standing. She crossed the room and stepped in front of him, laying her hands on his cheeks. "Honey, I'm sure Jason's doing the best he can."

Carlisle shook his head as he backed away from her. "It's not good enough."

Jason left without another word, and Carlisle locked himself away in his study for the rest of the day. He read article after article about the case, trying to find contradictions in evidence. He wasn't a lawyer, he was a doctor, but the hope that he could find something that someone else might have missed kept him up many nights.

Carlisle tuned everything and everyone out, except for work. He returned to the hospital, working long hours. It was only when he was with patients that he didn't think about his son's future.

Esme spent most of her days at home with Alice and Emmett. They watched movies, they read, they cooked, they did things together to keep each other from falling apart. There was an Edward-shaped hole in their lives, and it wasn't until they were each alone that they were forced to deal with it.

When it was decided that the trial would move to Seattle, Carlisle and Esme went house-hunting. They knew that staying in Forks was likely not an option no matter the outcome.

Carlisle left his post at Forks General, and Esme tied up loose ends with her business. The house that the Cullens had called home for nearly twenty years went up for sale.

They sat stone-faced in the courtroom, silently supporting Edward each day of the trial. They saw Bella every day. So close, yet so far away. The day she testified, the hurt and disbelief was still so raw that none of them were all that shocked when Alice declared that Bella was no longer her best friend.

Esme sobbed quietly as Bella described her feelings for them all. She had always thought of Bella as a daughter, and it pained her immensely to lose her. She still remembered Bella as a young girl with a sweet smile and a pure heart.

The day that Edward was found guilty was the final nail in the coffin for the Cullens. They each retreated. Esme rarely saw her husband. He came home for three or four hours at a time, long enough to shower and grab a nap in his own bed.

Esme would attempt to sit down with him, to encourage him to eat a home-cooked meal, but he'd always decline and head off to the hospital once again.

She had wished that Emmett and Alice were closer, that Emmett would have moved to Seattle, and Alice wouldn't have went to New York. Her loneliness was deepening, as was her depression.

On their wedding anniversary, Carlisle came through the door at midnight and went straight to bed. Esme had been sitting in the living room, a bottle of wine and a box of tissues on hand.

The next morning, she was surprised to find him seated in the kitchen at the breakfast table. Hope flowered in her chest, then deflated when he merely mumbled a good morning to her.

"You forgot our anniversary," she boldly stated, taking a seat across from him.

He lowered the newspaper and looked at her. "I'm sorry?"

"Our anniversary," she repeated. "It was yesterday."

He glanced at the date on his watch, then noticed the time. "Shit, I'm late." He stood quickly, tossing the paper on the table.

He left without another word, and Esme sobbed into her hands. It wasn't the last important date that Carlisle would forget, but Esme still loved him.

For his part, Carlisle felt like a complete louse for forgetting their anniversary, though he failed to see any point in celebrating. He couldn't bear to sit with his wife and toast to their years of marriage when they had failed as parents.

When they went to see Edward, it was forced and painful. They didn't know what to say to him, and by the time they left, Esme was in tears.

And to top it all off, Emmett had revealed that he had started dating Rosalie Hale. Carlisle couldn't fathom Emmett's need for this, but Emmett wasn't about to back down.

Carlisle wasn't sleeping, afraid that the sight of his son covered in blood, or Bella's piercing cries, would haunt him in his dreams.

He had always prided himself on being a responsible and ethical man. However, one evening, when the hospital was quiet, he found himself holding a bottle of prescription sleep medication. He stared at the bottle, his hands shaky, before dropping it into his jacket pocket.

Esme was always asleep by the time Carlisle would arrive home. He would stand at the door to their bedroom and watch her for some time, a glass of brandy or scotch or vodka in his hand. She would stir, and he would back away from the door, intent on not letting her draw him in.

She was hurt, and he knew that. He hurt just as much over the loss of their son, over his freedom. As much as he wanted to go to Esme, to hold her at night and tell her he would always love her, he couldn't take the risk. He didn't want her to get her hopes up that life would ever be normal again.

It wouldn't.

One night, nearly a year after Edward was sent away, Carlisle came home to find Esme sitting in the living room. There was an emotion on her face that Carlisle had never seen before.

Loathing.

"It's late," he said as he drew off his coat and draped it over a chair. "I figured you'd be asleep."

"Are you having an affair?" she asked, keeping her voice steady to mask her pain.

"What? Don't be ridiculous," he replied incredulously, immediately going to the bar.

Esme wrung her hands together, her eyes on him. She didn't want to believe that her husband, the man she had given her heart, soul and body to for so long, could stray so far from her, but he was clearly getting consoled somewhere, and it wasn't by her.

"I called the hospital tonight. They said you'd left over two hours ago. It's not the first time that's happened, Carlisle. Where do you go when you're not here? I never see you, and-"

Carlisle stared at the wall, unwilling to look at her. He didn't know what to say to make her believe he was faithful to her, despite their growing apart.

"I need you, Carlisle. Please come back to me," she whispered, tears running down her cheeks. "We can get through this, and-"

She stopped talking when Carlisle let out a laugh.

"There is no getting through this, Esme," he stated. "It's always going to be hanging over us. Our son is in prison for the rest of his life for killing a woman. Perhaps that's easy for you to live with. I would rather not pretend that everything is okay."

"I know everything is not okay!" she cried, getting to her feet. "But I'm doing my best, Carlisle. I'm trying, and if you would actually be home with me once in awhile, you could try, too. What the hell are you doing? If you aren't having an affair, what are you doing? Are you drinking yourself into oblivion? Is that it?"

Carlisle slammed his glass down and stormed to her, putting a finger in her face. "Don't you dare say things like that to me."

Esme didn't back down. She lifted her head a little higher and stared back at him defiantly.

He searched her face, shook his head and backed away.

"Carlisle, I know you're hurting," she said. "Please, don't shut me out."

"What do you want me to say, Esme?" He picked his glass up again, finished the drink, then poured another. "Do you want to say that we can go back to being a normal family again? That it's okay that we have a son imprisoned for taking the life of another human? I'm a doctor, Esme. Perhaps in your world, it's easy to pretend life is perfect again. But in mine? I go to work and watch as innocent lives are snuffed out by diseases, and murders, and car crashes. I think about Renee with every single one of them, and how she should still be alive. How she should be here to watch her daughter become a woman, but she's not because for some reason, my son decided to take her life. Tell me, how is that easy to get over?"

Esme furiously wiped at her tears. "Our son is not a killer, Carlisle."

"Our son was found guilty in a court of law!" Carlisle shouted, causing her to flinch. "You heard it. Guilty! Guilty! He's a killer!"

"Stop it!" she yelled. "Listen to yourself, Carlisle!"

He dropped into a chair, and for the first time in his life, he began to sob. Esme went to him and fell to her knees, grabbing his hands. "Carlisle, please. I miss you. I know you think there's no hope, but there is. Please, come back to me."

Two days later, Carlisle and Esme hired an investigator, and then another when the first said he couldn't help them. The second didn't do much better, telling them that perhaps there was nothing that would help their son because he really was where he belonged.

After that, the relationship between Carlisle and Esme grew so strained that Carlisle began renting a condo in downtown Seattle. They put up a front when they needed to, when one of the kids would visit.

Eventually, the both of them stopped driving to Clallam Bay. Carlisle could use the excuse that he was far too busy at work, or that he was off attending numerous medical conferences. Esme would say she was accompanying her husband, though that couldn't be further from the truth.

It was easier for them to get through each day when they weren't reminded of Edward.

And then came the call from Emmett that changed everything.

Carlisle had been flying back and forth between Seattle and Chicago for some time. He missed his hometown, and was anxious to begin a new life there. He and Esme had decided just weeks prior that there was no longer any reason to keep up appearances, and Esme filed for divorce.

As Carlisle made small talk with one of his new colleagues at a dinner in Chicago, his cell phone rang.

"Dad, it's me," Emmett said, his tone hurried. "Edward's getting out."

Carlisle froze, immediately excusing himself from his company. "What do you mean?"

As Emmett explained the situation to him, Carlisle found himself wandering outside, his mind trying to process the details.

"It's Bella, Dad. She did it. She got information to clear him." Emmett's words snapped him out of his stupor.

"Wait, I'm sorry. Did you say that Isabella has been working to get him cleared? Emmett, are you sure?"

"Dad, it's already happened..." Emmett said, going on to tell him about how Bella and Rose were missing. "Can you and Mom fly back? Edward's going before a judge in the morning, and ... it'd be nice if you could be here."

"What do you mean Isabella is missing? And Rose? What the hell is going on, son?" Carlisle was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, one hand on his hip as he walked.

"Dad, they're gone. I don't know what happened. The cops are looking for them. Just, please, can you get here as soon as possible?"

"I'll be there, son," Carlisle stated.

As soon as they disconnected, he dialed Esme. He wasn't sure how to tell her. What should he say?

"Carlisle," she said, picking up on the third ring after excusing herself from her clients.

"Esme, Emmett just called. Edward's ..." His voice trailed as he sought the words, and Esme's heart stilled for a beat.

"Carlisle? Is something wrong with Edward?"

Carlisle sighed. "He's going to court tomorrow and might be released."

Esme quickly stepped into the hallway. "Carlisle, there has to be some mistake. Are you sure?"

"Emmett explained it all to me," Carlisle told her. "I'm going to book the first flight out."

"Is Edward coming back to Seattle for the hearing?" "Yes, it's in the morning."

She leaned against a wall. "Carlisle, are you sure?"

Carlisle laughed softly. "Esme, I'm sure. There's some new information that's going to clear our son."

It wasn't easy to comprehend, for either of them, but by the time they laid eyes on their son in the hospital, it became clear.

They might all have been freed from their personal prisons, but the pain wasn't over.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** Thanks for reading. :)


	5. Renee

**A/N: **This outtake was originally written for the Fandom 4 Sexual Assault Awareness.

Special thanks to Dinx for beta'ing.

_**Disclaimer:**__ This outtake is rated PG-13 for adult themes. I obviously do not own the characters you recognize. That honor belongs to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Renee's Story**

_Bella._

_Edward._

_Charlie!_

_Breathe, Renee. Breathe…_

_Oh God, the pain…_

_Please don't let my baby come home right now…_

_I can't breathe…_

_Breathe…_

Renee lay on her back, her eyes closing, opening, closing, opening.

The ceiling was growing blurry. Falling on her.

_Bella… my babygirl… I'm so sorry…_

Her hand trembled as her fingers crawled toward the cord leading to the phone on the coffee table. It took a few attempts before she was able to pull at it. The phone crashed to the floor, the handset falling off the base.

She was weakening, her breathing becoming labored, but she managed to get her finger to work long enough to press the important numbers.

_Nine…_

_One…_

_Bella…_

_Breathe…_

_One…_

Renee whimpered as she tried to maneuver her head closer to the handset.

She heard the dispatcher's voice. So close, yet to so far.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

Renee's mouth opened as her eyes closed. Her body was going numb. She was so cold, freezing.

"Hello? This is nine-one-one. Do you have an emergency? Hello? Is anyone there?"

_Help me…_

_Bella…_

_Edward…_

Their faces floated in and out of her mind. Bella's smile, her laugh. Her first steps, her first word.

"Hello, this is nine-one-one. Do you have an emergency?"

Edward might return. She found his iPod, and he might return for it. She was concerned that whoever had done this to her might return as well, and Edward would be in jeopardy.

And Bella. Bella was on her way home.

_Oh God…_

"Help… me…" she whispered, her throat constricting. "Help…"

"Hello, are you there?"

She couldn't be saved. She felt it. But she needed someone to get there, to make sure whoever had taken her life wouldn't take anyone else's.

Her fingers gripped the handset and she pulled it closer, clutching at it with what little might she had left.

"Is this Chief Swan's residence? Nine-two-oh Old Pine Road? Hello?"

"Yes… please… help…"

"We have a unit on the way. Don't hang up, okay?"

_Edward!_

"Ed…"

Edward was standing at the doorway, his eyes wide, his face drained of color.

"Ed…"

"Hello? Don't hang up," the dispatcher's distant voice repeated.

Edward finally moved forward, dropping to his knees.

Tears oozed out of the corners of Renee's eyes as she stared up at him.

_Please…_

_Bella… protect her, Edward…_

Her free hand moved to his arm, and she grabbed him, her nails digging into his flesh. Startled, he pulled it away, and she let out a cry, then a gasp.

"Hello? Hello?" _I don't think anyone's there…_ the dispatcher said to the person over her shoulder.

Renee felt as if she were floating. The pain was no more. She blinked, her eyes on the whiteness of the ceiling.

_So high…_

_Mom? Daddy?_

_Hello, honey. We've missed you. Welcome home…_

* * *

_October 30th, 2005_

Renee rose to her feet in the storeroom, dusted her knees off, and walked back into the showroom.

The beautiful weather had lent itself to a busy weekend at the Pike Art Gallery. Renee had sold two pieces, and had leads on two others.

Today, she was tidying up, making sure each piece had her full attention. She was alone in the gallery that day, the manager and her co-workers taking off after the hectic Saturday. She didn't mind working alone. It gave her time to think, to spend time reveling in the fact that she was surrounded by one of the things she loved most – art.

And she got to control the music. At the moment, she had Handel's _Messiah _playing.

She had her back to the door when the bell chimed, and she put on a smile before turning. Her eyes widened slightly when they landed on the man who had entered.

He looked at her, and she momentarily felt weak in the knees.

_You're a grown woman, Renee! Stop that. Be professional_, she thought.

As he approached, she could feel the air begin to charge, and then he smiled. It lit up his whole face. The corner of his blue eyes crinkled.

He was impeccably dressed, even in his dark blue jeans and short-sleeved Polo shirt.

Her eyes dropped to his left hand, and she was surprised to see it was unadorned.

_Whoever sent this man to me, thank you!_ she thought, her smile widening.

"Hello," he said, his voice rich and straight-to-the-tummy deep.

"Hello," she replied, taking a step forward. "May I help you?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets, finally taking his eyes off her and allowing them to move about the showroom.

"I think you can," he said, moving to the left. He walked to a painting depicting a half-dressed woman and studied it closely, folding his arms, tilting his head.

"That's by a local artist," Renee said, staring at his well-toned back. "His name is Rudolf Vanderberg. He's quite popular-"

The man glanced over his shoulder, and Renee stopped speaking. He didn't have to say anything to command her attention.

"Hm, yes. I own several of his pieces already. But I heard he had another showing a couple of days ago, and thought I'd drop in to see if anything was left."

"That's it," Renee said. "The only piece left, I mean."

"Why do you suppose that is?" he asked, tapping his chin.

Renee shrugged, then realized he couldn't see her. "I'm not sure. It's not all that original of a painting, is it? A half-dressed woman, lounging, covered only by a sheet across her waist? There are many pieces like that. Perhaps only a true Vanderberg fan would appreciate it."

He smiled. She could tell because from her vantage point, she saw his cheeks lift.

"I'll take it. Not for me, for my son. He's away on business right now, so I'd like to have it in place before he returns."

Renee nodded. "Very well, Mr…"

He finally turned, and she swallowed as his eyes appraised her. "Yorkie. Laurent Yorkie."

She moved behind the counter to write up the bill of sale. "Mr. Yorkie, where do you want this delivered?"

He gave her an address as he leaned against the counter, watching her. "You have beautiful eyes," he said. "Very spirited."

She felt her cheeks warm and glanced up at him. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he replied, letting his eyes travel down her neck and to her cleavage. "What's your name?"

"Um, Renee, sir. Renee Swan… um, Cooper."

He casually looked at her left hand, noticing the absence of a ring, before settling his eyes on hers.

_Swan…_ he thought. _I wonder…_

"Swan's an unusual name," he said.

She cleared her throat, placing the bill of sale on the counter for him to sign. "It's, um, a married name. But I'm not. Married, I mean."

"That's good," Laurent said, picking up the pen. "I mean, I'm sorry. Should I be? Because I'm not."

Renee was flummoxed by this man in front of her. "No, no. It was a long time ago."

He quickly signed the paper, pushing it toward her. "I don't suppose you'd like to join me for dinner one evening, would you?"

_Oh, dear… _Renee thought_. Would I!_

"I'd like that," she replied, smiling.

Laurent left with her phone number, and the following Friday, they had their first date – which turned into breakfast.

It wasn't until their second date that Renee sprang the news on Laurent that she had a daughter, and from there, things just got strange.

"Forks?" Laurent said, running his fingers along her arm.

Renee nodded, placing her fork on her plate. The temperature in the restaurant suddenly seemed to spike.

"Yes, she lives in Forks with her father," Renee said.

Laurent thought about this before answering. "When you said the name Swan, I immediately thought of the police chief. Charlie, is it?"

"My ex-husband," Renee replied. "We weren't married long, and we were young. Foolish."

"You were obviously married long enough to produce a daughter. She's how old?"

Renee sighed, her appetite gone. "She just turned twenty."

"My son is a couple years older. They would have gone to school together," he said, smiling. "Small world, isn't it?"

Renee smiled. She liked how he could put her at ease without really trying. He was also a gentleman, holding doors, pulling out chairs.

All the things that Charlie and Phil didn't do for her. Laurent made them look like inexperienced high school boys.

It wasn't until they had their sixth date that Laurent dropped a bombshell on her.

"I'm married," he told her as they sat on the balcony at his son's townhouse. Laurent used the home whenever his son was away, which was frequently.

She stared at him, mouth agape. "You're … but you said … why did you lie?"

He sighed, reaching for her hand. She yanked hers away, placing it with her other on her lap.

"I'm sorry, Renee. I really, truly am. It hasn't been easy for me, keeping it from you."

"Obviously it has," she rebuked, shaking her head. "Married."

She got to her feet, and he stood, reaching for her.

"Don't touch me," she spat, tears in her eyes. "I can't believe this! You're not who I thought you were. Not at all."

"We're separated, Renee. If you'd let me finish. Victoria and I, we've been separated for nearly a year. I'm planning to file for divorce soon. Please. I don't want to lose you."

Renee softened a little, meeting his gaze. "Are you really? You're not just saying that."

"No, of course not."

"Why? What happened between you two?"

"We've grown apart," he said. "We're on two different paths. I have to stay in Tacoma, and she doesn't really care much for the place, so she stays in Forks. The distance hasn't done us any favors. I plan to run for Senate, and she's not really happy about that, either."

"She's still in Forks?"

He nodded. "Year-round."

Renee had always thought she was a fair judge of character, though she'd certainly misjudged men in the past. Or maybe it was herself she had misjudged. Either way, she believed Laurent, and she let him touch her.

As the holidays came and went, then a new year, Renee and Laurent continued to grow closer, and one day, Laurent broached the subject of the two living together.

He said he had filed for divorce, and she felt relieved. Renee could never live with herself if she remained "the other woman."

Gradually, her things began to find their way to the townhouse in Queen Anne. He even bought her a new cell phone, but she decided to use it exclusively for him.

She couldn't bring herself just yet to tell Bella that she was getting serious with a married man, even if that man was about to be divorced.

It was on a day in March, when Bella was home from Berkeley for the weekend, but out with friends in Port Angeles, that Renee went up to the attic to look for some photos she could take back to Seattle to show Laurent.

As she dug through a box, her eyes landed on a purple book, its cover littered with stickers.

Bella's journal.

Renee sat back on her heels, looking down at the book. She was never one of those meddlesome types when it came to her daughter. She figured Bella told her everything she needed to know, though she suspected she kept some things to herself.

She was especially curious about Bella's relationship with Edward Cullen. It was no secret in their household that Edward and Bella didn't get along. Renee wasn't entirely sure why, for Bella had never told her anything about him. She had been around the Cullens a handful of times, and had never seen any outward animosity between the two.

She'd even seen Edward looking at her daughter on more than one occasion, and the look wasn't one of a boy who disliked a girl.

She opened the cover and began flipping through the pages. It was mostly short entries, doodles of a teenage girl. Renee didn't even read any of them. She smiled as she neared the end, but what she saw there made her stop.

It was the longest entry in the book. Nearly three pages, and across each page, Bella had obviously applied the pen with force, carving lines into the pages.

Curiosity got to her then, and she began to read.

_I'm so stupid. I can't believe I liked him. How could I ever like a guy like that?_

_He's disgusting!_

_I let him touch me and I'm so sorry I did._

_I didn't think I was going to get away, but I knew I had to fight. I didn't want to let him rape me, and he almost did._

_I want my first time to be with someone who loves me, who cares for me deeply._

_Eric Yorkie was just using me!_

_I know that now._

_I feel so sick… I can't tell anyone. Not even my mom. What would they say? I'm so ashamed…_

The book fell from Renee's hands, and she covered her mouth as a sob escaped.

"Oh, Bella," she whispered. "My poor babygirl."

For a week after reading that entry, Renee ignored Laurent's phone calls. He came by her apartment a few times, and she never answered the door. She kept an eye out at the gallery for him, and the two times he stopped by, she hastily disappeared into the back, telling her co-worker to say she wasn't working that day.

Finally, Renee felt ready to approach Laurent about what had happened between their children.

What she wanted to know first and foremost was if he knew what his son had done. She assumed he didn't, but what if he did? How could she ever forgive herself, knowing she had dated the father of a boy who had tried to rape her daughter?

She had met him at the townhouse one afternoon, taking a long lunch break. He sat on the sofa, watching her walk back and forth.

"What's wrong, love?" Laurent asked her after a minute of her pacing.

She paused in her steps and looked at him. "I found something of Bella's. Something that concerns your son."

Laurent visibly stiffened, and Renee stared at him. "Did you know?"

"Know what?" he asked.

"Your son tried to … _rape_ my daughter. She was just a baby, Laurent! Not even sixteen! And he took advantage of her." Her words were spilling out hysterically, and Laurent stared at her, slack jawed.

"There has to be some mistake," Laurent said, laughing a little. "Eric would never-"

"But he did," Renee said, cutting him off. "She wrote about it in a journal, Laurent. A girl tells only the truth when she's writing in a journal. Those are her secrets!"

Laurent stood swiftly, his face growing red. "Not if she suspects someone might read it."

Renee glared at him. "Are you saying my daughter lied about it?"

"My son is one of the most respectful people I know, Renee," he stated. "He was raised better than that. He would never hurt someone, especially a girl. Perhaps your daughter was lacking attention, or-"

"You bastard," Renee said between clenched teeth. "How dare you!"

As if on cue, the front door opened, and Eric walked in, whistling some unknown tune. He walked straight into the living room.

Renee stared at him, hatred in her eyes.

"What's up, guys?" Eric asked, tossing his laptop case onto the sofa.

"You-" Renee started, but Laurent quickly cut her off.

"Renee, this is not the time."

Renee moved her attention to Laurent. "Now's the perfect time, Laurent. I want to hear your son tell you he isn't as perfect as you think he is."

Eric looked at her, then at his father. "Dad?"

Laurent sighed loudly, moving in front of Renee and turning his back to his son. "Renee, please. Let me get this sorted out. I'll let you know what steps should be taken, if any."

Renee took a step forward, flinching when Laurent's arm shot out to stop her.

"Eric, will you leave us alone for a minute?" Laurent asked.

Eric said nothing as he turned and loudly walked up the stairs. A door slammed, and Renee slapped Laurent.

"He won't admit it, and you know it," Renee said, tears burning her eyes. She moved around him and grabbed her purse. "This isn't over, Laurent. I fully intend to do whatever it takes to let the world know what kind of man your son is."

She hurried from the townhouse and to her car, crying as she pulled away.

She didn't want to talk to Bella about it, embarrass her and bring up past pain, but she would have to if she wanted to do something about it.

Before she had the chance to, though, things took an unexpected turn. Laurent began to threaten her, telling her that Bella had made the story up, just as he had said, and Eric had never done anything to the girl.

But Renee knew better. She began making plans to talk to Charlie about it, to find out what options they had.

And one day, instinct kicked in and she sat down to write a letter to Bella for her twenty-first birthday. She didn't think Laurent had it in him to harm her, but she couldn't be so sure about his son.

So, she wrote the letter and placed it in between several framed photos in a box, hopeful that it would be found if her worst fear came to fruition.

Bella returned to Forks for the summer, and Renee was there to spend some time with her. She planned to fix them all a nice dinner, and the first chance she had to be alone with Charlie, she was going to tell him everything.

It was a pure fluke that Edward happened to be passing by when she had gone to the car to retrieve a bag that fateful evening.

She waved at him, smiling as she closed the door to the car. He waved back, and she motioned for him to stop, calling his name. He slowed, removing the earbuds from his ears.

"Hello," he said, trepidation in his voice.

"Hi, Edward," she said. "How are you?"

"I'm good. You?"

"Fantastic," she replied, grinning. "And your parents?"

"They're doing well. Keeping busy."

"I would imagine so, with summer coming up. I ran into your mother yesterday in Port Angeles. She was picking up some paint samples, and she asked my opinion on a few colors. She's really got an eye for that. But I guess you knew that. Anyway, I'm in town to see Bella, fixing her dinner, actually, and the faucet is leaking in the kitchen, but I'm a bit of an idiot when it comes to fixing things," Renee said, realizing she had probably bored him to death with her rambling.

Edward looked at her, and then toward the house. "I could take a look at it, if you want."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Renee said, touched by his offer. "I'm sure Charlie can fix it when he gets home."

"It's no trouble," Edward replied, smiling. "I had my share of leaky faucets in Seattle. Old building, you know."

"That's so nice of you, Edward. Okay, come on in."

She led him into the house and to the kitchen, thinking that he certainly wasn't the boy she remembered, the one that she knew had caused Bella so much grief.

"Excuse my mess," she stated. "I'm fixing lasagna for dinner. I have to spoil Bella while she's here for the summer. I'm sure she doesn't eat very well at school."

Edward laid his iPod on the counter, and Renee opened up the doors beneath the sink.

"What kind of tools do you have?" he asked, kneeling.

"Oh, I don't know. Charlie should have some in the basement. Let me go check."

Renee headed down to the basement, stopping at the bottom step to glance around. She had no idea where a toolbox would be kept, but she eventually spotted two and grabbed both.

"Sorry. I have no idea what you need," she said when she returned to the kitchen. He took them from her and sorted through the tools before lying down, pushing his body up under the piping.

Renee moved around the kitchen, chatting about this and that as she prepared dinner. She needed to call Charlie and find out when he could be expected, so she excused herself to use the phone.

"Chief Swan speaking," he said, his voice full of authority.

Renee had to hide a snicker. "Hello, chief. What time should I expect you home for dinner?"

"Uh, probably around six-thirty, I suppose," he said. "What are you fixing?"

"Bella's favorite, of course," she replied, pausing to listen to the clanging coming from the kitchen. "Edward's here."

"Is he? Why?"

"The faucet's leaking. He happened to be passing by, and he offered to fix it for me."

"Oh. Well-"

"He should be done soon. Hopefully he'll be gone before Bella gets home. I gotta go, chief. See you soon."

She hung up and headed back to the kitchen. "How's it coming?" she asked, peering down into the cupboard.

Edward took a minute to answer before he moved out and sat up, looking at her. "Done, but you should have Chief Swan wrap it up with some tape."

He tossed a wrench in the toolbox before standing.

"Wow, that was quick. Thank you so much, Edward."

"You're welcome," he answered, smiling politely. He washed his hands and dried them before moving to pick up his iPod. "I should be going."

"Oh, hang around for a few. I'd love to chat some more. I want to hear all about college! What are you going to do with yourself? Can I get you some tea?"

He seemed to hesitate, and she wondered if he was worried about seeing Bella.

"Bella won't be home for a bit," she said, hoping to put him at ease. _At least, I don't think she will be… maybe it wouldn't be so bad for them to see each other… _she thought, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard.

They moved to the dining room table and talked for a bit, mostly about Seattle and Edward's plans since graduating from college. She liked him; she couldn't deny it. He was definitely charming. She found herself wondering if perhaps she should persuade Bella to clear the air with him.

"I should go," he said finally, standing. "It's getting late and I have to finish my run."

"Of course," Renee replied, following him to the door. "Take care, Edward. Tell your mother I said hello."

"I'll do that," he said, smiling.

She watched him until he disappeared before heading back to the kitchen.

It wasn't but a few minutes before she spotted his iPod. She started toward the living room, but the smoke detector began screeching in the kitchen. She groaned, going back to get the broom. The smoke detector had a knack for going off whenever there was just the slightest hint of oven heat in the air.

"Stupid thing," she muttered, using the broom handle to hit the button and silence the offending instrument.

Once it was quiet, she picked up Edward's iPod and moved to the living room. She needed to call the Cullen house to leave a message for him, but she never made it…

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** This likely answered a question I get more than any other: Who did Renee call while Edward was visiting? It actually was answered in Ch. 1 (Going Home) of the fic. Charlie told the detective that Renee had called him and told him that Edward was there.

I enjoyed writing Renee's side of the story because we didn't get to hear from her during the main fic (obviously). She was completely enamored with Laurent, but she also realized what she had gotten herself into later - and it was too late. To answer another question I've gotten several times - no, Laurent had no idea his son was going to kill Renee, or rather, have her killed, but as we all know, he did everything he could to make sure Eric didn't get caught. He also didn't expect his son to take it so far, offing as many people as he did. It's amazing what the desire for power and control will do to a person.


End file.
